When I was a kid, my Daddy used to get us all up for church on Sunday morning. We’d have breakfast together, which was rare for us (and I’m guessing for most people around here). My Daddy worked in the coal mines, so he left for work at about 5:30 each morning on weekdays. Then on Saturdays he and my Momma slept in while my brother and I would get up early and watch cartoons. The good ones that aren’t censored; the ones they don’t show anymore.
Anyway, back to Sunday. We’d get gussied up in our best and all get out to the family car, being sure to step on the flagstones out to the driveway to make sure we didn’t get our shoes or the hem of our pants wet from the morning dew, then Daddy would drive us to the little Methodist church.